Home
by WitchAmz
Summary: Oz/Giles contented, slashy goodness.


Title: Home  
Author: Amz  
Disclaimer: Joss  
Notes: Giles/Oz Slash

* * *

Oz is wandering the market stalls, gathering supplies, when Giles shows up in the village at the end of a busy day. Giles looks neither lost nor as though he has found himself, until his eyes settle on Oz's serene expression. The relief that floods his face coaxes a half smile from the werewolf, who finds a nearby table to settle his items on so that he can embrace the Watcher in warm hug.

Giles, surprised and slightly embarrassed by the greeting, immediately turns to help Oz gather up the articles into large, cloth bags.

"You looked like you needed a hug." Oz explains as he gratefully distributes the bags evenly across his arms and Giles stutters a response that disarms any concerns Oz has about the world ending in peril. He can't quite grasp the concept of Giles on holiday and he turns suspiciously to the Watcher several times as they make their way towards the walking trail.

Along the way, Oz pulls Giles back from several stallholders that catch his interest and stops patiently beside others with a nod that renews Giles' faith in purchasing.

It's only a short walk to the yak, but a much longer walk back to the temple and Oz worries that Giles doesn't understand his use of the word 'far'. He doesn't, but eventually they find a few rocks large enough for Giles to climb up onto in order to mount the yak for the remainder of the journey. He looks incredibly awkward, brave faced with startling eyes, holding on for dear life as they navigate the rocky path into the mountains. Oz smiles and forges ahead, feeling touched that Giles accepted the invitation to see his home.

Giles is feeling very sore and ridiculous by the time they reach the temple, but the sunset views that greet him at the top of the mountain distract him from his discomfort.

Oz has disappeared by the time he adjusts to the altitude and he smiles through his teeth as he wanders by a group a chanting monks, some stubborn cattle and finally makes his way up to the temple. Oz greets him with a cup of swirling tea and Giles looks into the smiling eyes with fascination.

Giles spends the night in a small room in the maze of the temple, afraid to leave for fear of losing his way again and having to rely on a smiling, bowing stranger to lead him back. Their breakfast is quiet, peaceful and plentiful and Oz discusses the benefits of meditation, prompting Giles into a cross legged position on the grass beside him. Giles stays another day and then another, until Oz finally finds some work for him to do that brightens the eyes of the monks. They smile and nod happily at the Watcher as he returns from a day out in the fields, tired but somehow content.

Too fatigued to partake in dinner, Giles sits, slightly slumping in his chair as he gazes out of the window, watching the stars chase away the last remnants of the sun.

"Not really your idea of a holiday, I'm guessing." Oz leans forward slightly, his eyes shining with sympathy, but there's nothing patronising in his observation.

Giles smiles into his bowl of soup. "I'm afraid I'm not used to this sort of work." He is apologetic, but Oz frowns slightly and shakes his head.

"I dunno Giles .. pretty much any given day on the Hellmouth? I'd say we have some pretty stiff competition."

* * *

Giles cheers silently when he successfully makes his way back to his room and face plants onto his pillow, groaning so softly that the silk yarn muffles the sound. It's only a few moments later, that the soft padding of feet enter his room and Giles shifts on his bed until he is facing the doorway and straining to look at the person in his room.

"As you were." Oz makes a turning motion with his hand and sets a bowl and a candle on the small table beside the bed. "I've got herbs and stuff. Perfect for this sort of thing."

Oz begins to tell Giles about the healing powers of the herbs on the mountains, describes the way the women turn them into paste, mix them with the native flora and sell them for small fortunes to happy travellers like Giles. He gently strips the Watcher of his shirt and starts to smooth the cream into the tired, aching skin, until Giles starts to think that toiling the land is something he should do more of.

When Oz feels confident that Giles is properly relaxed, he leaves the room for a few moments and returns with two guitar cases, creeping silently, as though expecting to find the man asleep, but Giles' eyes pop open when Oz sets the cases down on the floor.

"Sorry." He winces, but Giles shakes his head earnestly as he straightens up.

"I wasn't asleep."

Oz believes him. He explains that these are the only two guitars he hasn't sold yet. One was given to him by his grandfather and the other one is signed by Dave Grohl and Oz is waiting for "better market conditions".

They tune the guitars contentedly and then strum two instrumentals, amused to discover that their individual musical styles intertwine to produce a more pleasing sound to the ear than Giles expected. Oz doesn't seem quite as surprised and plays the first few chords of Rocky Raccoon tentatively, finally offering Giles a curious smile when the watcher starts to sing.

Giles' gentle voice smooths out the soft, stumbling guitar notes and he blushes only at the end, when his eyes open to find Oz gazing back at him in wonder.

Oz doesn't make it back to his own room that night.

* * *

Giles stays for a few more days and then, wanting to see more of Tibet and wanting even more to lay motionless in his room at the inn, he splits the remainder of his time between the village and the temple. Giles begins to feel uncomfortable with the prospect of staying at the temple and Oz has to persuade him to remain on the longer days when he can't leave.

He knows that Giles' eyes roll back not in the shadows of his inn room, but in the vales of the mountains, an hours trek from the temple. There, Oz draws the desperate gasps from Giles that play over in his mind, distracting him from his daily work and earning him the faint blushing that warms his neck when he receives certain looks from the monks.

Giles' holiday ends when the pull of duty finally manages to disentangle him from the lure of Oz.

The days turn into weeks, turn into months before Oz spots the familiar profile of Giles climbing the trail to the temple, more sprightly than the first few times he navigated the hills. He's not too tired to go with Oz into the mountains after a decent cup of tea. He wraps his arms around the pale torso as they sink into cool water, tracing familiar patterns. Giles only stays a few days this time.

Oz gestures to a grunting yak as they say their goodbyes and Giles turns to leave. "He thinks you should turn up sooner next time." There's a pointed eyebrow rise and Giles exhales in amusement.

"I promise."

* * *

It's not long before Giles returns and the watcher has a proposition for Oz. A farm, in England, at a suitable location for Giles to travel into the city. Some sort of part inheritance, part purchase opportunity. There are goats and geese and crops and fields and a house with several fireplaces.

"Would you be interested?" Giles enquires hopefully. "It would be our own."

* * *

Giles smiles as he watches Oz work in the fields of their new home. The sweeping monk robes gently caress the soil as Oz wanders among the soybeans.

* * *

Oz looks around at the goats and the geese on the farm and smiles.

He lays across Giles, closes his eyes and takes in the music at the nearby folk festivals, thinking that all of this isn't so different from life in Tibet.

Home is Giles, nestled in his arms, breathing in his scent.

On the weekends farthest from the full moons, Oz paints his nails silver and fossiks for band t-shirts and faded jeans. He dances with Giles to a beat faster than the life he leads on weekdays, feeling the rush of city life for a moment that makes him realize that he has everything he needs.


End file.
